


nothing but you

by ecubed



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: AU, Alcohol, Boys Kissing, Brief mention of drugs, Christmas, Christmas Eve, Christmas Fluff, Established Relationship, Flashbacks, Fluff, Ghosts, Happy Ending, Holidays, Inspired by A Christmas Carol, Kissing, Lots of it, M/M, Snow Storms, a little bit of teasing, a tiny bit of swearing, does this plot make sense? the answer to that is a resounding 'probably not', it's very tame, or time travel i guess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-16
Updated: 2014-12-16
Packaged: 2018-03-01 18:07:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2782568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ecubed/pseuds/ecubed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"This isn't so bad," Harry says brightly.<br/>Louis gives him an incredulous look.<br/>Yes it is. It is that bad.<br/>"At least the sheets look clean," Harry offers feebly, a final attempt at making the best of the situation.</p><p> Louis' convinced Christmas has been ruined. But has it?</p><p> <br/>[or, a snow storm forces Harry and Louis to spend Christmas Eve at a motel. Features bad weather used as a plot device, the other boys as poor excuses for Dickensian ghosts, and a very important question]</p>
            </blockquote>





	nothing but you

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jzayn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jzayn/gifts).



> i'm not sure if this is what you were hoping for, but somehow all your prompts sort of fused into one hot mess of a fic. i really hope you enjoy this :) or at least that you don't completely hate it.
> 
> Christmas fluff. That's really all this fic is. Almost 9k of tooth-rotting, stomach-ache inducing fluff.
> 
> Also, i have no idea what a snow storm looks like. would internet work? let's pretend yes.

Louis glances down at his watch and makes a face.

They are going to be late – and not just late, but _late._ Normally, this wouldn’t bother him in the slightest – he’s always late, it’s the one constant in his life – but today isn’t just another normal day.

It’s Christmas Eve. And it’s the first time that his family and Harry’s family are going to be spending the holidays together. It’s Serious and Important, and everything needs to go perfectly… but so far, it just isn’t.

They were supposed to be in Doncaster half an hour ago, but they still haven’t even left home yet. He’s sent out a bunch of contrite apology texts to everyone in his family, but so far the only response he’s gotten is a cheeky text from Lottie:  ‘ _so u and Harry ‘overslept’ again right? ;) ;) ;)’_

He hates his sister.

But she’s not wrong. 

Harry had been up half the night baking mountains of gingerbread biscuits and assembling dozens of mince pies. It had been four in the morning by the time he’d fallen into bed beside Louis, and he’d looked so exhausted and worn out that Louis and hadn’t had the heart to wake him. Louis’ gaggle of sisters is impossible to deal with on the best of days, and he wasn’t going to make Harry deal with the entire Tomlinson clan while sleep deprived. He’s not that much of a dick.

And of course, it wouldn’t do for him and Harry to forget that it was Louis’ birthday. They couldn’t let the occasion pass without celebrating it properly. Then celebrating it again. And once more in the shower.

 It was wonderful – fantastic even - and he doesn’t regret it for a second, wouldn’t take it back for anything.

Except now they’re late. So _so_ late.

Harry’s still inside putting the finishing touches on the twins’ Christmas presents, something that Louis has been forbidden from helping with, because apparently _if I’d wanted them to look like they were wrapped by a two year old, I’d let Doris wrap them_. Instead, Louis has been demoted to the role of packhorse, lugging boxes of presents and baked goods, down the stairs and loading them into the boot of the car.

He’s just throwing their bags into the back seat when Harry finally appears by the car, carrying a bag of brightly wrapped presents. He’s wearing a dark coat, a green scarf wound around his neck. His cheeks are rosy, bitten pink by the frosty air, his eyes bright with excitement, and it’s actually kind of ridiculous how even after three years he still manages to make Louis’ breath hitch in his throat.

“Hey,” he grins at Harry, popping open the boot. He takes the bag of presents out of Harry’s arms. “Got everything?”

“Yeah, I think so,” Harry says as he watches Louis cram the bag into the boot. There isn’t much space left, but with a bit of maneuvering, he manages to make everything fit.

And then they’re done.

The presents are wrapped, their bags have been packed with everything they’ll need for the next few days, and they’ve loaded everything into the car.

There is officially nothing left to do.

Louis' stomach lurches anxiously.

He turns to Harry with a smile. His hands shake slightly as he reaches into his pocket to pull out the car keys. “Ready to go?”

“Yeah,” Harry says. He takes one look at Louis, and his eyebrows knit together in concern. “Are you okay? You’re being all twitchy and weird.”

“Just a bit cold,” Louis says, and it’s not a complete lie. It’s fucking freezing. He rubs his cold hands together and shivers. The truth is, that he’s not so bothered by the cold, it’s the cold sting of rejection that he’s more worried about. It’s an irrational fear really, but then again, when have feelings ever been rational? But he can’t talk to Harry about that, so he just shrugs, and pulls the sleeves of his jacket over his hands.

“Told you to put on proper winter clothes,” Harry rebukes him.

“You did,” Louis agrees. “I’ll be fine though,” he tells Harry, trying not shiver. “We should get going.”

Harry rolls his eyes fondly. “You’re ridiculous,” he says, his voice indulgent. He pulls the scarf from his own neck. 

Louis tries to protest, but Harry just ignores him and proceeds to wrap Louis up in the dark green fabric. His hands linger briefly on Louis’ shoulders before he tucks the ends of the scarf into Louis’ coat. He rests his hands on Louis’ chest and beams. He loves seeing Louis in his clothes.

“There. That’s _much_ better,” he says, and he sounds so smug and self-satisfied that Louis wants to respond with an eye-roll of his own, but he’s wrapped up in Harry’s scarf – wrapped up in his scent and in his warmth - and he can’t seem to manage anything but a blinding smile.

It’s not much of a surprise. Harry’s always had this effect on him; he softens Louis’ rough edges makes him warmer and softer and gentler. Harry makes his cheeks flush and his heart beat a little bit faster, and he doesn’t even have it in his to feel embarrassed about it.

He’s really quite stupid over the boy.

Luckily, he’s pretty sure it’s mutual.

Louis shakes his head, hoping to clear it, then he gives Harry’s hand a light squeeze. “C’mon,” he says fondly, trying to ignore the nervous fluttering in his stomach, “If we don’t turn up soon, my mum is going to kill us.”

 

*

 

Louis starts to feel more and more uneasy the longer that they’re on the road. They haven’t passed another car in over fifteen minutes and it’s making Louis nervous. It’s just past six on Christmas Eve, and the roads out of London should be crammed with cars, full of people desperately trying to get out of the city, anxious to spend Christmas with their families, but there are no other cars in his line of sight.

It’s weird and Louis doesn’t like it. 

He frowns at the empty road. “Where is everyone?”

Harry looks up from his phone and shrugs.  “Maybe we managed to avoid the traffic?”

Louis snorts. “We’re not that lucky. And it’s the M1. There’s never no traffic.” He’s trying to keep his voice light, but he’s a bit worried. Their headlights and the occasional street lamp are the only sources of brightness; the sky has darkened to pitch black, a thick blanket of clouds blotting out the stars. The wind has picked up, pelting the car windows with snow and it’s getting more and more difficult for Louis to see the road in front of him.  “Check the weather forecast, will you,” he tells Harry. 

Harry nods and opens up a new window on his phone. He squints at the screen.“Shit.”

“What is it?” Louis prompts him anxiously.

“There’s a severe storm warning for the area.” Harry’s brows furrow together as he continues to read, “Snow and ice storms expected. Residents advised to stay off the roads as visibility will be severely affected.”

Louis clears his throat. “Well, that’s a bit concerning.”

“Do you think we’re still okay to keep driving?”

Louis takes a minute to consider Harry’s question. They’ve still got over two hours left on the road, and the weather looks to be getting worse by the minute. The wind howls ominously, thrashing against the car, with a high-pitched whine, and that makes up Louis’ mind for him. He sighs in resignation. “I think we needed to wait it out.”

“Yeah,” Harry agrees, but he sounds disappointed and Louis gets it; he’s disappointed too. He wants to go home with Harry. He’d wanted this so much, planned it out to the very last detail. Everything was going to be perfect, and now his plans had been put on ice – literally. He’s frustrated and annoyed, but still, he isn’t going to risk it – not with Harry in the car with him.  He doesn’t take his eyes off the road, just reaches over and gives Harry’s thigh a brief comforting squeeze.

“Should I find us somewhere to stay for the night?” Harry asks him.

Louis nods. “Yeah.” He squints through the windshield, but it’s useless. Snow pounds against the glass, almost completely whiting out the road. “And make it as close as possible, I’m not sure how much longer I can keep driving.”

It’s a few minutes before Harry responds. “There’s a motel a couple of miles from here.“ He makes a face at his phone. “It looks a bit sketchy though.”

“We don’t really have much of a choice, love.”Louis sighs, “Give us the address.”

 

*

 

Louis eyes the small space with distaste. The room is so much worse than he had expected.

Harry must notice the way Louis’ face falls, because suddenly there’s a big hand on Louis’ shoulder and Harry’s smiling down at him. “This really isn’t that bad,” he tells Louis, his voice bright and cheerful.

Louis gives him an incredulous look.

 _It is._ It is _that_ bad.

The windows rattle in their frames as the wind lashes against them, and the room is so draughty that Louis’ shivering violently even through the two jumpers Harry had wrestled him into before he’d even allowed Louis to leave the car.  The light in the bathroom won’t turn on, and there are questionable stains on the carpet. He doesn’t think they’re blood, but he can’t be entirely sure.

Absolutely nothing is going to change Louis’ mind about this place, but it appears that Harry’s not done trying yet. “It really could be a lot worse,” Harry tells him, and Louis isn’t sure whether he’s trying to convince Louis or himself. “It’s very quaint.”

Louis raises an eyebrow in disdain, and Harry sighs, defeated. “At least the sheets look clean?” He offers feebly, a last ditch attempt to try to make the best of their situation.

Louis snorts. The thing is, now that he’s managed to get Harry to safety, the protective instinct that is responsible for landing him in this dump in the first place, is quickly being replaced by the desire to flop onto the bed and feel sorry for himself. He sees no reason why he should have to resist this desire, so he just slides the bag off his shoulder and face-plants onto the bed. The tiny box in his pocket presses uncomfortably against his hip, and the bedspread is itchy against his cheek, but it’s fine. Things couldn’t really get much worse. And if ever there was a time to indulge in a bit of self-pity, it was now. He had such plans, such grand designs for their first proper family Christmas, and now everything is ruined. 

He presses his face deeper into the pillow, and makes a small sad noise. Louis feels the mattress shift beneath him, then Harry’s curling around him, his warm body pressed tightly against Louis’ side.

“You should text your mum,” Harry tells him quietly. His lips are pressed to Louis’ neck, and he fights a shiver when Harry’s breath dances along his skin. “Let her know that we’re not going to make it tonight. Don’t want her to worry.”

Louis grunts in agreement, because Harry’s right, and he should definitely do that, but still he makes no move to get his phone out.

“Do you want me to do it?” Harry finally offers, after a silence that stretches out just a beat too long.

Louis nods. He feels the bed dip and creak, as Harry wrestles his phone from the pocket of his jeans, and there’s a moment of silence before Harry starts talking again, “I know you wanted to spend Christmas at home, but we should try to make the best of this. You realise I’m in the same situation, don’t you?”

Louis curls in on himself, buries his face in his hands. “Sorry.”

“You’re acting like such a child,” Harry says sharply, then his voice changes, suddenly goes soft and hesitant, “And it really could be worse. At least we’re together, y’know?” 

Louis feels his cheeks warm with shame and he suddenly feels very small. Harry’s right – he may not be getting his perfect Christmas, or his perfect _anything_ , but there’s no one he’d rather be stuck in this shitty room with than Harry.

Louis sighs. He turns on his side, until he’s facing Harry, pulls him closer until his chest is pressed flush with Louis’.  “Yeah. At least we’re together. I’m sorry for being a dick about it,” he whispers, pressing a soft kiss to the hollow of Harry’s throat. Harry trembles at that, and his eyes flutter closed – his neck has always been sensitive – and maybe, just maybe, this night won’t be a total waste.

Louis’ mind is already wandering, conjuring up scenarios of taking Harry apart, pressing him into the awful floral bedspread, but before he has a chance to act, Harry’s pulling away.

He laughs breathily. “Let’s save that for a bit later,” he says, the corners of his mouth twitching. “I don’t really trust these sheets to be honest.”

Louis huffs and pouts, but Harry won’t give in, just continues smirking at him in that insufferable way until Louis finally caves. “Fine, “ he says, with a long-suffering sigh. “What do you propose we do instead?”

Harry’s eyes light up like he’s just the most brilliant idea. “Christmas,” he blurts out, as though that explained everything. “We’re doing Christmas.”

Louis doesn’t quite follow. “Um. What.”

Harry ignores the perplexed look on Louis’ face. “Do you want a mince pie?” he asks, thoroughly unconcerned by Louis’ lack of enthusiasm.

Louis just blinks. “What?”

Harry rolls his eyes. “A mince pie. Do you want one?”

“They’re all in the boot though.”

“Nah. I’ve got some stashed in our bags. Thought they would make good snack for the road, but we might as well have a couple now,” Harry tells him. He hops off the bed, and rummages through their bags for a few seconds before pulling out a small plastic container. Within seconds, he’s back by Louis’ side, sitting cross-legged, the box of mince pies in his lap.

He looks so eager, his green eyes sparkling, that Louis can’t help the wide grin that threatens to split his face in half.  Maybe he’s overcompensating a little, he still feels a bit guilty about his behavior, but he doesn’t feel anywhere as crabby and frustrated as he did earlier, and Harry deserves to have his whims indulged always.

He makes grabby hands towards the box of mince pies, but Harry just bats his arms away. “Patience is a virtue,” he says haughtily, before peeling the plastic lid off the box, and handing it to Louis.

“Shut up,” Louis says, then he stuffs an entire mince pie into his mouth. Harry is watches his reaction carefully, always so desperate for Louis’ approval.

Louis chews thoughtfully for a few moments - just long enough to make Harry squirm. “These are really good, he finally tells him.

At these words, Harry’s face breaks into a brilliant grin, and he flushes under the praise. “Did you expect anything less?” he asks cheekily.

Louis scoffs at that, “Getting a bit full of yourself, aren’t you, H?”

“Nah, you’re just notoriously easy to please,” Harry says with a smirk.

Louis bristles and his brows draw together. “ _What_ is that supposed to mean?”

“Just, y’know, that it doesn’t take much. Or long.”

“What!” Louis gives a squawk of indignation, then launches himself at Harry, pushes him down, until his back is pressed into the mattress. Louis crawls on top of him, straddling Harry’s hips. “Take that back,” he says, poking Harry hard in the ribs. He tries to make his voice as menacing as possible, but he fails spectacularly, when he looks down at Harry beneath him, all flushed cheeks and glassy eyes.

“You’re going to have to make me,” Harry says, and the quiet intensity of his voice makes Louis’ breath catch. _God._

He runs his hands over Harry’s chest, over the hard ridges of muscle. “I thought you didn’t want to,” he says, keeping his words as nonchalant and unaffected as possible.

“I did. I do. I always do,” Harry laughs, sounding a bit breathless.

Louis hums, then shakes his head. “No, I’m pretty sure you said you wanted to save this for later. Something about doing Christmas instead?”

“I changed my mind. I’m flighty like that,” Harry says quickly, an edge of desperation creeping into his voice. “C’mon.”

Louis considers it for a minute - or pretends to anyway - then he climbs off of Harry, pulls him up until he’s sitting upright. He ignores Harry’s petulant expression. He gives his arm a consoling pat, bats his eyelashes and smiles sweetly, “I think I like your Christmas thing better.”

(It’s a lie – what he really likes is the indignant, grumpy expression on Harry’s face, when he doesn’t get his way)

 

*

 

As revenge, Harry forces Louis into putting on his most obnoxious Christmas jumper – bright green wool with a felt reindeer stitched into it, a giant red pom-pom in place of its nose. Harry had bought it for him, and it’s the ugliest thing Louis has ever seen, but it seems to make Harry happy to see him in it, so he only complains a little when Harry pulls it from his holdall.

They spend the next few hours stuffing themselves with gingerbread biscuits and the remaining mince pies. Louis eats so much that his jeans start to feel uncomfortably tight, and he feels a little bit sick, but not sick enough that it stops him from leaning into Harry and kissing the crumbs from the corners of his mouth. He tastes like cinnamon and home, and it’s almost enough for Louis to forget that they’re trapped in a motel room, a storm raging outside.

They empty the mini-fridge, draining the tiny bottles of shitty vodka and cheap wine until everything goes pleasantly fuzzy around the edges. Warmth stirs in Louis’ belly when he manages to coax Harry into serenading him with a ridiculous rendition of Santa Baby. He watches from the bed, bottle of wine in hand and a smile on his lips.

Harry looks ridiculous, prancing around the room, rubbing up against the furniture.  He pouts and looks up at Louis from underneath his eyelashes, and it isn’t sexy in the slightest. Harry has very little control over his body at the best of times, but now, with the alcohol running through his veins, he’s a mess of flailing limbs.

It’s simultaneously the most hilarious and the most endearing thing Louis has ever seen in his life.

He loses it when Harry gets onto the bed, crawls towards him fluttering his eyelashes exaggeratedly and biting his lips. He laughs so hard he manages to spill wine all down his front, which only makes him laugh harder.

Harry flops down beside him, watching Louis’ try to blot the wine from his jumper with a tissue – Rudolph seems to be bleeding from his eye sockets and it’s pretty gruesome. “That was the most degrading experience of my life,” Harry tells him.

“You must have led a pretty boring life then,” Louis quips, and Harry swats at his arm, like a disgruntled kitten.

A few seconds later, Louis gives up on trying to get the wine stains out of his jumper – it’s red wine, it’s going to stain either way, no matter what he does. He tosses the tissue onto the carpet, and curls himself into Harry’s side. “I think I’m all Christmas’d out.”

“But it’s only Christmas Eve. What about tomorrow?”

Louis rolls his eyes. “For tonight then.”

“Are you sure?“ Harry asks, “We’ve still got hot chocolate, if you wanted?”

Louis frowns. “You don’t even like hot chocolate.”

“Yeah, but you do,” Harry says simply, like it’s obvious that he’d pack a thermos of hot chocolate just because Louis likes it. As though it’s no big deal. As though making Louis happy is important and comes to him as easily as breathing.

Louis feels suddenly breathless, so full of love for his ridiculous man-child of a boyfriend that he feels as though he might burst. There are butterflies in his stomach and he feels like he’s twenty again, laying eyes on Harry for the first time.  It’s not much different from the way that he’s felt every day for these past three years. 

He pulls himself into Harry’s chest, links their fingers together, and brings them to his lips, overwhelmed with how much he loves the boy. _God._

“ _You_ are _amazing_ ,” he breathes, pressing a kiss to their interlocked hands.

“It’s just hot chocolate,” Harry tells him, sounding confused by Louis’ reaction.

Louis laughs softly, “It isn’t.”

And it really isn’t.

It’s _everything._  

It’s Harry’s kindness, and thoughtfulness, and the stupid way he eats with his tongue poking out. It’s his huge heart, and the way he’s more than capable of being as sharp and witty as Louis, but lets Louis claim the label of being the ‘funny one’ because he knows that’s what Louis needs.

It’s _Harry_.

And it’s the fact that Louis wants to keep him forever.

It’s bubbling up again - the little black box feels like it’s burning a hole in his pocket and the words are on the tip of his tongue –

But he just can’t do it. Not here and not like this, not when Harry deserves so much more. So he swallows the words down, kisses Harry fiercely instead, and tries not to think about his grand plans and the way that the universe decided to shit all over them.

It’s almost midnight, and Louis thinks he might want to spend the last few minutes of his birthday attached to Harry’s lips. It’s not a bad plan, and he’s just about to put it into action, when the room suddenly goes cold, the lights flicker ominously, and they’re plunged into darkness. Louis sits bolt upright, fear curling at the base of his spine.

“Louis,” Harry whispers nervously, clutching tightly at Louis’ hand.

There’s a shadowy figure standing at the foot of the bed, glowing faintly in the darkness.

The figure clears its throat awkwardly,“ I am the Ghost of Christmas Past,” it says.  The voice is heavily accented, all short vowels and long pauses, and the words come out sounding more like a question that a statement of fact. The lights flicker a few times, before the room is flooded with light once more, illuminating the figure standing at the foot of the bed.

The figure takes the shape of a man unlike any Louis has ever seen – translucent, with dark hair and dark eyes, and a face which is almost too perfect to be real. He’s dressed all in black, and he looks like some kind of Victorian waif. It’s a bit disconcerting; nobody looks like that in real life - at least not without a copious amount of makeup and some skillful photoshopping.

The situation should feel frightening and ominous, but instead Louis’ put in mind of one of those cheap horror movies, which try to hard to hard to terrify but miss the mark completely, leaving the audience in stiches, and the fear that lay heavily in his stomach just a minute ago, dissipates completely.

Whatever is happening goes so far beyond normal that Louis refuses to believe it.

He pulls his gaze away from the man, and turns to Harry instead. “Harry,” he says calmly, “did you add little something extra into those mince pies? I promise I won’t be mad.”

“What?” Harry’s face scrunches up in confusion, and he sounds absolutely appalled by the idea. “I would never. Your sisters were going to eat those!”

“Then how do you explain the fact that we are currently experiencing a hallucination?”

“I’m not a hallucination, mate,” the man interrupts.

Louis isn’t buying it. That sounds exactly like something a hallucination would say.

“I don’t think you’re hallucinating, Lou,” Harry says. His voice trembles almost imperceptibly – if Louis wasn’t so attuned to Harry’s voice, he would have missed it. He squeezes Harry’s hand tightly.

“Then what exactly is he?” Louis muses.

“I’m right here,” the boy retorts. “And I already told you. I am the Ghost of Christmas Past.” He offers them a tentative smile, obviously trying to put them at ease. “You can call me Zayn.”

Harry’s shoulders are still tense, but he offers a small smile of his own. “Hi, Zayn,” he says politely, remembering his manners even when facing a ghost, “I’m Harry, and this is Louis.” Harry’s voice is steady and controlled, but he’s still feeling a bit apprehensive if his vice-like grip on Louis’ hand is any indication.

Louis isn’t quite so ready to accept the bizarre turn the night has taken. “Why are you here?” he demands.

“It’s my job,” Zayn replies, shrugging a translucent shoulder. “You are currently the grinchiest person in the area, so I’m going to have to take you into the past, make you relive some past Christmases, fill your heart with Christmas cheer, or whatever –“ He ignores Louis’ noise of protest, “ – Granted, usually we’ve got more pressing cases than some guy who’s grouchy because his plans have gone wrong, but apparently you’re the crabbiest person in my assigned district, so it’s got to be you.”

Louis stares blankly at Zayn, speechless for the first time in his life.

Harry frowns. “Is this really necessary?”

Zayn’s face is apologetic. “M’afraid so. If I don’t do my job, I don’t get to see my sisters. You see where I’m coming from?”

Louis finally seems to regain control of his mouth. “Your sisters?”

Zayn nods sadly. “Simon won’t let me see them unless I do this. And I haven’t really been dead long enough to stop missing them.”

Louis swallows thickly, his heart suddenly heavy, aching at the thought of not being able to see his own sisters whenever he wanted.

“So, are you going to come with me?” Zayn asks uncertainly, tentatively extending a translucent arm towards Louis.

Louis hesitates - he doesn’t want to be the reason Zayn misses out on seeing his sisters, especially when he can see how much it means to him, but at the same time, he can’t help feeling a little scared. “Can Harry come?” he asks in a small voice.

Zayn seems to consider this for a moment. “Technically it’s against the rules but I’ll make an exception because he’s cute.” He winks in Harry’s direction, making his cheeks flush.

Louis glares darkly at Zayn.

He pulls Harry closer, wrapping a possessive arm around his waist. It’s stupid for him to feel jealous, but he finds that he can’t really help it. Zayn may be incorporeal but he’s prettier than anyone has any right to be, and Louis isn’t taking any chances. “Let’s just go,” he grumbles.

Zayn looks amused by Louis’ reaction, but he doesn’t say anything.

Then the room melts away around them. 

*

_It’s been three hours since the first wave of people had spilled through the front door. There’s music and there’s dancing, and enough alcohol to keep everyone pleasantly buzzed. Everyone’s having a good time – everyone except Louis, that is._

_He’d spent the first two hours feeling pretty optimistic about the whole thing, bouncing around the room, dancing when his favourite songs came on, and if part of his attention was constantly focused on the front door, inspecting every new group that came in, it was only because he was a good host, and definitely not because he was anxiously waiting for anyone specific to show up._

_But now his enthusiasm is starting to wane._

_Luckily, that’s nothing that alcohol can’t fix._

_It’s his party; he’ll get plastered if he wants to._

_**_

_“He isn’t coming.” Louis whines. He plants himself into Stan’s lap, ignoring his grunt of protest. “Why isn’t he coming, Stan?”_

_“Who?” Stan asks absently. He doesn’t look up from his phone, which is frankly unacceptable when Louis’ having a crisis._

_“Harry,” Louis sighs dramatically. As if it could be anyone else._

_“The guy from your English course?”_

_Louis rolls his eyes. He’s not even going to dignify that with a response. Stan knows full well who Harry is. Louis doesn’t shut up about him. “Why doesn’t he like me?”_

_Stan shrugs. “Maybe he’s not gay.”_

_Louis scoffs at that. He’s pretty sure Harry’s at least a little bit gay. He’s rarely wrong about these things. But also, that’s not the point. “We’re friends, Stan,” Louis says indignantly. “Friends go to their friend’s parties!”_

_“You don’t say,” Stan says drily._

_Louis glares at him, then slumps pathetically in Stan’s lap, nuzzling his face into Stan’s shoulder. He’s putting it on a little bit if he’s being honest. He’d learned a long time ago that exaggerating his feelings, being big and bright and over the top, meant you could get away with saying things, giving away bits of truth without making yourself vulnerable– no one’s going to take you seriously anyway._

_It’s not as though the Harry thing is a big deal. So he didn’t come to Louis’ party, so what? It stings a bit – he’s normally so confident, yet it’d taken him days to work up the courage to ask Harry. They’d never hung out without the safety net of books and assignments, and Louis was worried that was all their friendship was meant for._

_But it’s fine. Harry doesn’t owe him anything._

_He whines sadly against Stan’s shoulder - which seems to be the last straw._

_“Right,” Stan says, shoving Louis from his lap and dumping him to the floor. “It’s your birthday, Tomlinson, and you are not going to spend it whining about some guy,” he states. He extends a hand towards Louis, pulling him up from the floor, then grabs him by the shoulders, looking him directly in the eye. “You are going to drink, and dance. And be happy about it. Understood?”_

_Louis just nods, and lets himself be pushed towards the crowd of dancing people._

 

**

 

_An hour later, Louis has had enough. He’s tired and sweaty – his fringe is sticking to his forehead, and his body is starting to ache. He needs another drink (or two) and he’s got to piss._

_He pushes his way through the swarm of bodies, and escapes upstairs, where it’s quieter. There’s no queue for the bathroom, so Louis’ takes his time, spends a few minutes in front of the mirror, trying to make himself look presentable._

_It’s a thankless task, and he leaves the bathroom looking no better than when he went in. He’s not really paying attention to where he’s going, still feels a bit fuzzy and out of focus, when someone taps him on the shoulder._

_Louis spins around; ready to round on them, because he and his housemates are trying confine the mess to as small an area as possible and no one’s supposed to be upstairs, but then his mind goes blank, because,_ oh _._

_“Hi,” Harry says, and he’s smiling down at him._

_“What are you doing up here?” is the only thing that manages to come out of his mouth, because Harry’s here, and he’s smiling at Louis, and Louis’ a bit drunk. It’s all just a little bit too much._

_“Looking for you, actually,” Harry tells him, and he’s still smiling. God, Louis really needs to pull himself together._

_“You’re very late,” Louis says. He tries to school his features into a scowl, but it’s probably not very convincing because Harry just laughs at him.  He needs to look into getting his tuition refunded – clearly, he’s a pretty terrible actor._

_“I know. I’m sorry,” Harry says. “I had to work late.”_

_“Oh.” Louis immediately feels like shit. “You didn’t have to come.”_

_“I know that too,” Harry says, and the dimple comes out in full force. “But I wanted to.”_

_Louis feels strange. There’s an odd fluttering in his stomach and he isn’t sure if that’s the alcohol or whether it’s the warmth in Harry’s eyes that’s making him feel so light and airy._

_Luckily, Harry doesn’t seem to notice. “I only really came by to drop this off,” he continues._

_It’s only now that Louis notices the small package tucked under Harry’s arm.  He gapes at it, turned speechless for a moment, because this really isn’t that kind of party. None of the sixty or so people crammed into his living room had thought to bring him a present – no one except Stan, but that’s entirely different. They’re all broke university students, so presents aren’t exactly a thing._

_“You brought me a present,” Louis stammers, as though he can’t quite believe it_

_“Yeah.” Harry says, “Wrapped it myself, and everything.” His cheeks are flushed, and he can’t seem to meet Louis’ eyes as he hands over the neatly wrapped box. “It’s even got a little bow on it.”_

_“Thank you, Harry,” Louis says quietly. He sounds a bit strange, even to his own ears; croaky and strangled. He can’t stop staring at the box in his hands, the bright paper and festive bow._

_“You’re welcome.”_

_A beat of silence passes between them. It isn’t awkward, just loaded with something Louis can’t quite understand, but then Harry’s clearing his throat. “I should get going,” he says, and Louis’ heart plummets._

_“Already?” Louis asks, and he hopes he doesn’t sounds as desperate as he thinks he does._

_“Yeah,” Harry replies, and Louis thinks there might be regret in his voice, but it could just be wishful thinking. “I’m driving home in the morning, and I’m pretty knackered after work.”_

_Louis bobs his head in understanding. He’s taking the train up to Doncaster in the morning, but at least he’ll have the train journey to sleep of his inevitable hangover. “Do you want me to walk you out?”_

_Harry nods happily._

_The house isn’t particularly big, so it doesn’t take long before they’re standing in the corridor by the front door. Louis doesn’t really know what to say._

_“Thanks again for the present,” he says awkwardly, twisting the hem of his t-shirt._

_“It’s not a big deal,” Harry assures him. “You’ll realise that once you open it.”_

_Louis rolls his eyes. “I’m sure I’ll love it.”_

_Silence falls between them and Louis searches desperately for something to say, because it’s just Harry, and he and Harry don’t do awkward. He lifts his eyes to the ceiling, and stiffens._ Shit.

_Harry must notice his stillness because he follows Louis’ gaze, and makes a soft noise of surprise. “Mistletoe?”_

_“Yeah,” Louis stammers, and he hates himself. It had been his idea to put up mistletoe in the front entrance, the one place people couldn’t avoid if they wanted to enter or leave the house._

_He’d thought it’d be funny. It isn’t funny. It isn’t funny at all, and past-Louis is a dick._

_“We don’t have to,“ Louis says quickly, before Harry has a chance to reject him, but then Harry is taking a step towards him, and his brain shorts out. “What are you doing?” he whispers._

_“I’m going to kiss you, obviously,” Harry tells him, with a cheeky twinkle in his eyes, “Don’t want to end up an old maid.” He brings his face close, waits a beat, as if to see if Louis’ going to push him away, but Louis’ doesn’t react and then Harry’s kissing him._

Harry’s mouth is on his.

 _It takes a moment for that to sink in, but then Louis’ kissing him back. He twines his fingers in Harry’s hair and pulls his head down, adjusting the angle, so that he doesn’t have to strain his neck. Harry’s hands come down to rest at Louis’ waist, and it’s good._ So good _. Louis can’t help the sigh that escapes him, parting his lips just enough that Harry’s tongue slides into his mouth. And that’s even better._

_He doesn’t ever want to stop._

He’s kissing Harry.

 _The moment the thought enters his mind, he freezes, and everything seems to crash down around him. He pushes Harry away, gasping for breath because,_ god _, he’d_ kissed _Harry._

 _His_ friend, _Harry. His friend, Harry who never would have kissed him if not for the mistletoe. Who had probably been aiming for a friendly close-mouthed kiss, before Louis had attacked him, mauling him with his mouth._

_When he finally musters up the courage to look up at Harry, he’s wearing a strange expression. His eyes are guarded and their usual is sparkle gone._

_Louis panics. He’s really ruined this. Him and the stupid mistletoe. He exhales shakily, tries to turn it into a laugh. “I’m a little drunk,” he says weakly, by way of explanation._

_Harry frowns, his expression going cloudy. “Ok?”_

_Louis cringes. It’s so awkward. Louis needs him to go before he does something he’ll regret. “So, I’ll see you after the break?” he stammers._

_Harry nods, and he doesn’t meet Louis’ eyes. “I’ll miss you,” he finally says, but he’s still frowning._

_Louis finds that he doesn’t like it when Harry frowns. He wants that look off of Harry’s face and he wants to tell Harry that he’ll miss him too. It’d be the first sincere thing that’s he’s said since the kiss, but then he panics, afraid that Harry will see that his words are so much more than just a platitude, and before he can stop himself, he’s extending his fist towards Harry._

_Harry looks down at his fist, obviously confused, but then understanding lights his eyes, and he curls his own hand into a fist, bumping it feebly against Louis’._

_Louis smiles uneasily. “I’ll miss you too, bro.”_

_Harry doesn’t seem particularly pleased at Louis’ words. He just looks at him with an unreadable expression, pulls him into a short hug, then he lets himself out the front door without saying another word._

_When the door clicks shut behind him, Louis sinks to the floor, burying his face in his hands._

**

 

“Well, that was pathetic,” Zayn remarks, as their hotel room materialises into view.

“I can’t believe you fist bumped me. I forgot about that,” Harry bites his lip, like he’s trying to stop himself from giggling.

“I panicked. I didn’t know what else to do!” Louis cries out defensively.

“Could have kissed me some more?” Harry suggests. “There’s an thought.”

“Well, it’s not as though you couldn’t have done the same,” Louis argues.

“You called me ‘bro’. Didn’t really think you’d be receptive to my advances,” Harry says.

Louis' pretty sure both Harry and Zayn are laughing at him.

"Shut up,” Louis says petulantly, and he’s not quite sure whether he’s talking to Harry or Zayn. Probably both. “We got it together in the end, didn’t we?”

He turns to Zayn, and scowls. “Not that I didn’t enjoy that stroll down memory lane, but what was I supposed to learn from that, other than the fact that past-Louis was an oblivious idiot?”

Zayn shrugs. “It’s about what you take away from it. So, no one can answer that question but you.”

The only thing that sticks in Louis’ mind is the way his face had lit up when he’d locked eyes with Harry, and the way everything felt better and brighter when Harry was beside him. But he knew that already.

He decides to abandon that trail of thought. It’s not really going anywhere, and Louis isn’t exactly fond of self-reflection.

He turns to Zayn instead, his mouth pulled down into a frown. “So, are you going to disappear now? Go back to wherever you came from?”

Zayn shakes his head. “Nah, I thought I’d hang around. Wait until the others get here.”

Louis feels his eyes bug out. “Others?” Because one ghost wasn’t enough.

Zayn rolls his eyes impatiently. “Haven’t you ever read Dickens?”

Louis gives him a pointed look that makes Zayn chuckle. “No, you wouldn’t have, would you?” he mutters under his breath.

“I’m really not much of a reader,” Louis says honestly.

Zayn lets out a sigh of disappointment. “It’s just like in ‘A Christmas Carol’. I am the ghost of Christmas past, so you’re still expecting a visit from Niall and Liam. Present and Future -” Zayn explains, throwing a quick glance at the digital clock that is mounted on the wall. “Niall should be getting here really soon, actually. I think you’ll like him.”

As if on cue, there’s a loud crash and the air beside Louis starts to glow softly, light rippling slightly, as Niall materialises into existence.

Unlike Zayn, this ghost doesn’t go for theatrics – there’s no sudden drop in temperature, no darkness or flickering lights.  Instead his apparition is accompanied by a gleeful shout, then the translucent blond boy is launching himself at Zayn, pulling him into a fierce hug.

Louis turns to Harry, eyebrows raised in disbelief. He has no idea what’s going on. And he still not entirely sure those mince pies weren’t doctored.

“Do you two need a room?” Louis asks wryly, making Harry snigger.

Niall just grins at them, thoroughly unbothered by Louis’ comment. He lets go of Zayn, who looks ruffled, a faint blush tinting his pale cheek. Louis makes a mental note to tease him about it at some point of this bizarre night. Niall strides confidently towards him and Harry, and extends his hand in a friendly handshake.

Louis gingerly sticks out his own hand to return the gesture, but when he tries to grip the boy’s hand, his fingers slip through the air, and he finds himself grasping at thin air.

Niall grimaces, snatching his arm away. “Sorry,” he says sheepishly. “I don’t spend much time with the living. Keep forgetting about the no touching thing.”

Harry’s face lights up with interest. “Have you been a ghost for long?” Harry asks politely, somehow keeping the burning curiosity out his voice. It’s pretty impressive.

Niall cackles. “Long enough, mate. But it’s not a bad gig.”

“And you’re the Ghost of Christmas Present, right?” Louis interjects.

“That I am,” Niall agrees.

“Christmas Present,” Harry mutters under his breath, and Louis bites his lip to keep from smiling.

“So, you’re going to take me and Harry into the present?” Louis says slowly. “The present. Which is right now.” He pauses. “No offense, but that doesn’t seem like much of a power. Zayn’s was way better.”

Niall makes a face. “It’s a little bit more complicated than that, mate. Usually I take people to see estranged friends, or family. To show them what might have been. What they could have had if only they weren’t horrible people. But, like, obviously that doesn’t really work for this situation.”

“So what exactly are you going to do with Louis?” Harry pipes up.

“Nothing.”

“Nothing?” Louis echoes.

“Yeah. There’s really nothing for me to do here,” Niall says. “It’s a slow night. Which is basically the only reason we’re here in the first place.” Niall pauses, scratching at his chin. ”I only agreed to take this job because I wanted to see Zayn.” He freezes in horror and the tips of his ears glow pale pink. ”And Liam too,” he adds quickly, trying to cover up his slip up.

Zayn seems to glow brighter, and the entire room grows warm.

Louis tries to smother his laughter, earning him an elbow to the ribs.

Harry tries to take control of the situation. “Are you sure you don’t want to take us somewhere?” Harry says deliberately. “Zayn said that’s the only way you get to see your loved ones.”

“Don’t really have any of those,” Niall says breezily. “Like I said, I’ve been dead for a long time.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Harry says, his voice full of sympathy.

Niall just shrugs.

Louis frowns. “ So wait. You’ve been dead for longer than Zayn, and yet you’re not the Ghost of Christmas Past. How does that even makes sense?”

Zayn speaks up for the first time since Niall appeared in the room, his cheeks still tinged pink. “The longer you’re dead, the more tenuous your link to the past – or something like that. So, the longer eventually I’ll probably get promoted to Christmas Present,” he explains, “it’s pretty complicated, and not really something you need to worry about.”

“Unless you die tragically during the holiday season,” Niall butts in.

“But that’s not going to happen,” Zayn offers kindly, noticing the horrified look on Louis’ face. “We know these things.”

“So, are you two just going to hang around here until your friend shows up?” Harry asks. He sounds confused, and Louis doesn’t blame him. He isn’t doing much better in keeping up with the weirdness of the situation.

“That was the plan,” Niall says. “Unless you have something better to do?” he says innocently, turning towards Louis with a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Perhaps you have some burning questions that you’d like to know the answers to?”

Louis freezes. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” says hisses. He gives Niall a sharp look, a look that says ‘shut up or I’ll kill you with my bare hands.’

Harry looks between them. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” Louis exclaims. “Nothing at all.”

Harry still looks suspicious. He looks to Louis, demanding a real answer.

An awkward silence settles heavily around the room, drawing attention to Louis’ weird behaviour. He grasps for something to say, something to fill up the horrible, awful silence, and to deflect attention off himself. His heart starts to pound in his chest, and he panics.

Then the walls start to shake and everything goes bright. Louis pulls Harry towards him, pressing Harry’s face into his chest, and throws an arm up to shield his own eyes. The room is filled with blinding light, filtering through his eyelids, painting his vision red.

An excited voice fills the room. “Has he proposed yet? I haven’t missed it, have I?”

Harry stiffens in his arms, pulling away slightly. “What?”

“Liam!” He hears Zayn hiss.

Louis cautiously opens his eyes. The dazzling light has receded, leaving behind a boy with a buzz cut and a sheepish expression on his face.

“Um. Sorry?” Liam’s whole body seems to droop in shame. “Sometimes I say things without thinking.”

“I can see that -” Louis says drily.

“Don’t worry about it,” Harry tells Liam, cutting Louis off before he could get started on what was going to be a very memorable rant. “Louis has the same problem.”  Harry turns away from Liam, his eyes trained on Louis’ faces, and it’s like everyone else in the room melts away. “Hey,” he says softly, and he’s smiling, so brightly that Louis can’t help but smile back. “So, um, a proposal?”

Louis swallows nervously.

“Is that why you were being so weird this morning? And then when we had to stop here?”

Louis grumbles, failing to keep the bitterness out of his voice, “Had everything planned out. Flowers, wine, romantic music. Everything. And then the stupid storm ruined everything.”

He’s staring down at the stained carpet, when Harry slides a finger under his chin, lifting his chin, until Louis is forced to meet his eyes. Harry’s eyes are warm and green, and beautiful. Louis just wants to kiss him.

He’s brought back to reality when a sigh echoes through the room.

“Is he ever going to do it?” Niall complains loudly.

Louis pulls away from Harry for a moment, glaring at the three ghosts. “Could we get some privacy?”

Niall shakes his head, but Liam just ignores him. “Oh, um, of course, Sorry” he says quickly. He looks right at Louis and grins, “Good luck, mate,” then he turns to Zayn and Niall. “Let’s go boys.”

Niall tries to protest, but then there are two sets of ghostly hands settling around his shoulders, and all three boys are fading out of view.

Louis takes a deep breath, crosses the room, and settles himself down on the bed. He looks up at Harry and pats the space beside him.

Harry plops down beside him and, takes Louis’ hands into his own. He clears his throat. “So you were going to propose to me today?”

“Technically yesterday,” Louis tells him, “but yeah, I was.” His stomach flutters nervously. “Is that okay?”

Harry rolls his eyes. “Don’t be stupid.”

“Sorry.”

Harry pauses, a thoughtful look on his face. “But, like. On your birthday?”

"Yes?” Louis says hesitantly and he doesn’t like where this is going. He can see the understanding dawn on Harry’s face, as the pieces begin to fall in place. When he looks back at Louis, there’s a quirk to his mouth, and his eyes are bright, teasing.

“Why would you do that?” he asks innocently.

Louis glares at him. “You know exactly why.” He takes a shuddering breath, and looks up at Harry pleadingly. “ Please don’t make me say it.”

Harry pokes him gently in the stomach. “Tell me.”

“No.”

“Please.” Harry juts out his bottom lip and pouts, and how is Louis supposed to resist that.

He gives a long-suffering sigh. “It’s because I couldn’t think of anything I wanted for my birthday more than for you to agree to marry me.” he says, suddenly feeling vulnerable. “You happy now?”

Harry beams, clapping Louis on the shoulder. “I’m ecstatic, mate.”

Louis blinks in surprise. “Mate?” He screeches indignantly. “Are you kidding me, Harry? I just asked you to marry me and you call me mate?”

Harry giggles, then turns serious. “But you didn’t?” Harry tells him, his voice gone soft.

Louis frowns, confused. “Didn’t what?”

“You haven’t asked me to marry you yet.”

“Oh.”  Louis sucks in a shaky breath. “Um, do you want me to do that now?” he says hesitantly.

Harry nods, an encouraging smile on his face.

“You sure you don’t want to wait until we get home?” The words come out before he can stop them, and he knows he’s babbling, but he just can’t seem to stop. “There’s champagne. And roses. And those tiny French pastries that you like so much. And –“

Harry clamps a gentle hand over Louis’ mouth, muffling his words. “Shut up,” he says fondly. I don’t care about any of that. As long as you’re the one asking, it’s going to be perfect,” Harry continues. “And I really want you to ask me now.”

He slowly removes his hand from Louis’ face, tenderly brushing a thumb against Louis’ bottom lip before finally pulling away.

“Yeah. Ok,” Louis stammers. He pulls the tiny black box from his pocket, and pops open the lid. It’s nothing special, just a thin band of silver, but Louis had paid extra to have it engraved. The words _Always in my heart_ , curl around the inside of the ring, so that the sentiment will always be pressed into Harry’s skin. Louis takes a deep breath, lifts his head to meet Harry’s eyes. “Ready?”

Harry bobs his head eagerly. His hair flops down onto his forehead, and the nerves that had been tying knots in Louis’ stomach seem to disappear. _God_ , he’s been so _stupid_. Because it’s just Harry. And just Louis. And he’s never had a reason to worry.

He reaches out to brush the hair from Harry’s eyes and gently tucks it behind his ear with a soft smile. “Will you marry me, Harry?” he says finally.

“That rhymes.” Harry remarks, delighted by his own observation.

“You’re ruining it, H,” Louis says with an amused roll of his eyes.

Harry shakes his head vehemently. “Nothing could ruin it,” he says seriously, before his face splits into a beaming grin. “And yes, by the way. I’ll marry you. Of course I will. Like there was ever any doubt.”

Louis takes Harry’s large hand into his and slides the ring onto his finger. Louis’ eyes start to sting. The bright silver complements Harry’s pale skin – it’s a good fit. He hastily wipes at his face with his sleeve, hoping Harry won’t notice the gesture.

“Louis,” Harry asks gently, “Are you crying?”

“No,” he sniffs.

“Lou.”

“Well, maybe a little,” he admits, looking up at Harry through watery eyes. “God, this is so embarrassing.” He presses the heels of his hands into his eyes, and gives a shaky laugh, “I’m just really happy, y’know?”

“Me too,” Harry says quietly, pulling Louis into a tight hug. He hooks his chin over Louis’ shoulder, and takes in a shuddery breath. “I love you so much,” he whispers, his mouth pressed to Louis’ neck.

Louis pulls away slightly, just far enough that he can take Harry’s face into his hands. He rests his fingers lightly against Harry’s cheekbone, watching his eyes flutter closed, eyelashes fanning out. He tilts Harry’s head back and presses their mouths together, kissing him slowly, all soft lips and breathy sighs. After a few minutes he pulls away, ignoring Harry’s whimper of disapproval. He rests his forehead against Harry’s and tries to catch his breath. “I can’t believe we’re getting married,” he sighs happily, making Harry giggle.

A booming voice fills the room. “Finally!” The walls of the room shake, sending a lamp toppling off the bedside table, with a loud crash.

“For God’s sake, Niall!” Louis yelps, leaping off the bed.

Harry just laughs, and pulls Louis back into his arms, kissing the outraged look right off his face.

 

*

 

Years later, when their children demand to know the story of how Louis proposed, Harry conveniently leaves out the part where they were visited by ghosts, but he never forgets to mention the fact that Louis cried.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to my lovely beta, B. I'm sorry I made you read this, I know you don't care about hl. But you will...


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